Give Me The Bliss of your Hatred
by Violet Fire
Summary: Here is the tale of Dianthelle, a half-elven princess of spies, a warrior and a ranger. These are the events in her past which lead up to explain why she's the bitter racist she is today. (I took the Mary-Sue test. She's not a Mary-Sue)


Half-Heart  
  
Chapter I: New Truths Unearthed  
  
Dianthelle unsheathes her sword. The blade of Siamnethall glows in the sunshine. Her opponent does the same; Varessale smiles dryly as she fingers the long, thin blade of Sermneguard with one gloved hand. Her thick sable hair downs her back.  
  
Dianthelle keeps her hair semi-short, somewhat long, about five inches past her shoulders. Right now it is down, and glistens in the bright sunlight. The two women are about to begin training. Dianthelle feels confident; she is highly trained by Fraxell, the second best swordsman in Fraldien.  
  
She also has received instruction from her father Fernemire, the King of Spies. So she is the Princess of Spies. She dislikes the term. 'Princess' is far too weak a word to describe her. Perhaps 'Spitfire Princess', or 'Daughter of Fernemire.'  
  
Dianthelle hates it when her strength is underestimated. She is just as capable as any man in Fraldien is. She has received extensive training with the sword and bow and is the best knife-thrower for miles around.  
  
Even though she is only fourteen, a mere child, she shows great skill in the arts of battle. Her father is extremely proud of her ability, because she matched his own in only nine years of practice. She is strong, and can only get stronger.  
  
She smiles confidently at her father, who stands with two of her best friends, Vlakalile and Ceyelline. Vlakalile is tall and feminine, daughter of Sadroden. She stands at Dianthelle's father's left, wearing a flowing hunter-green velvet gown, her long, glossy black locks cascading down her shoulders in gentle waves. She smiles and raises one of her pallid hands to wave.  
  
Ceyelline stands at Fernemire's right. She is the complete opposite of her sister Vlakalile. Ceyelline is a warrior, not unlike Dianthelle. She wears a golden chest plate over her black leather men's leggings. Her bronze- blond hair is braided out of her pretty tanned face, a semi-long length down her back. She also wears a confident smile. Both girls have brown eyes.  
  
If a man in Fraldien has a daughter that is a warrior, he is not to let her cut her hair. It is a tradition, to tell the women apart from the men. The shortest a woman can have her hair is just above the lower back-so it is long but not ridiculously long to get in the way while she is fighting.  
  
Vlakalile and Varessale both keep their hair ridiculously long, but Vlakalile is an exception. She is not a warrior. Varessale is, and her hair is down to her thighs. She wears it down as well, and wears dresses to the battlefield.  
  
Dianthelle questioned her ability as a warrior in a dress with long, full skirts. Varessale became enraged and challenged her to a duel-a duel in which the only weapons are swords and they both must wear full dresses. If Varessale wins, Dianthelle must wear dresses to the field from now on. If Dianthelle wins, Varessale must stop wearing dresses. Dianthelle is confident, but her father looks very worried. There are deep worry lines on his forehead, under the rim of his silver crown.  
  
She flashes another smile at him, and some worry lines go away. He shakes his head, all of a sudden looking very upset.  
  
As.Or.en's.mile.  
  
A strange thought enters her mind. She shakes it off and brandishes Siamnethall. The countdown begins, and she makes eye contact with Varessale. She looks pretty but overconfident, black hair shining in the daylight, her eyes half-closed, and a strange smile upon her lips.  
  
Varessale wears a long black velvet dress, with pointed sleeves and a high collar. Dianthelle wears a long full gown of red with very long sleeves. A black satin ribbon closes around her throat. The countdown ends.  
  
Dianthelle charges forward as lithely as a cat, and aims for Varessale's exposed waist. At the last minute, the overconfident noblewoman lowers her sword and blocks the attack. Dianthelle twirls gracefully to the left to avoid Varessale slitting her neck ear to ear with a thrust of her long sword.  
  
Dianthelle flicks her wrist to the right. Varessale takes one step back to avoid losing her left eye. Watching them spar is like watching a dance, though most are paying attention only to Dianthelle's suave movements, the way her skirts seem to sway in exact proportion with her body, how her hair gleams so brightly in the sunshine.  
  
The princess makes a sweeping motion across the ground with her sword, right under Varessale's legs. She jumps to avoid it, so Dianthelle only manages to tear the bottom half of her skirts off. Varessale angrily brings her sword down with both hands. Dianthelle dives to the left in attempt to avoid the blade. It gashes her arm-drawing blood and tears off her sleeve.  
  
In this split second Varessale has exposed herself. Dianthelle flicks her arm to the left in one lightning-fast motion. The tip of Siamnethall is pressed right against Varessale's chest, exactly where her heart should be. The crowd explodes into applause. Following Fraldien custom, Dianthelle nicks Varessale's arm, just enough to draw blood that matches her own injury.  
  
However, Varessale is not known for taking losing easily. She reaches into her boot, and Dianthelle realizes a second too late before it is in her flank-that it was a knife. Varessale walks smugly away.  
  
Dianthelle collapses to the sandy ground, her blood spilling onto the carpet of dead leaves beneath her. She moans in pain. Her father rushes to her side and kneels next to her. "Where has Varessale gone?" She hears Ceyelline yell angrily through blocked hearing, and a sword being unsheathed.  
  
Through blurred vision she sees Vlakalile kneel next to her, her skirt soiling in the dust and her long black hair bouncing off of her shoulders and chest as she does so. A gentle, cool hand caresses her cheek. But it is not her father, and it is not Vlakalile or Ceyelline.  
  
Her eyes swim to the left. Next to her kneels a woman beyond beauty. Her fair hand rests upon her cheek, and her long, lustrous ebony hair falls in soft waves down her shoulders. The woman wears a white dress and her ears are pointed.  
  
The stranger's skin is pale and her eyes, her eyes are one of the few things Dianthelle can see clearly. They are so blue those eyes, and darkened with thick obsidian lashes. One would have to be blind not to see them. Everyone else is fading, now all she can see is the woman. Her crimson lips are moving and she speaks in a tongue Dianthelle has never heard before, yet understands.  
  
"Dianthelle my daughter, I am here to help you."  
  
.Taleen la thai. "Hlasta amin! Come to me. "Dianthelle!"  
  
The woman disappears, gone into darkness as her father screams her name. A pity. Her voice was so soft, so melodic, so beautiful. What would happen if she went? Dianthelle closes her eyes. Will I ever see he again? She wonders as she slips into darkness's hold.  
  
Light. Much light, golden sunlight streaming down through open windows. Dianthelle squints and cannot see. These bright pools cascade in two places opposite of each other on both sides of the room. The rest is dark.  
  
She stretches and unbuttons her shift, just enough to fully expose her flank where the knife was lodged between her ribs, up to the hilt, and finds nothing, not even a scar. Perhaps the other side? She checks but finds nothing but smooth, soft tanned skin. Unscathed skin, no cuts or bruises, not to mention an absence of the serious, life-threatening wound.  
  
"Dianthelle? You are awake?" She looks to the left. There sits Vlakalile, her hair down and wearing a light green dress, sitting in shadow. Her silver locket shines at her throat. "Yes Vlakalile. Thank you. How long have I been sleeping?"  
  
Vlakalile remains silent. Dianthelle notes that there is a lone tear streaming down her cheek. "Why do you cry, Vlakalile? I am well. You shall soil the green of your dress if you stain it." Vlakalile chokes a sob, then embraces Dianthelle tightly.  
  
The princess hugs her back, not really understanding why she is so upset. "You said so yourself that it is nigh impossible to tell my voice from my sister's if we speak softly like I just did. You identified me." She cries, still holding Dianthelle.  
  
"Sshh Vlakalile. Does your sister have long hair like you do? Would your sister ever wear a dress, and if she did would it be such a color as the light green you don?" For some reason Vlakalile bursts into harder sobs.  
  
"How would you know that Dianthelle? Hmm? I sit in near pitch darkness." She sobs. Dianthelle strokes her hair. It seemed somewhat tangled as it brushed her cheek but now as she strokes it with her fingers it seems silkier.  
  
"You sit in shadow. Not darkness." She whispers, becoming frightened upon what exactly is upsetting her friend so. Vlakalile shakes her head, her silver and pearl earrings brushing her neck as she does so. Silver and pearl? Yes of course. She can see them clearly. Now she is becoming afraid. It is like her senses have been heightened.  
  
"Vlakalile, you are like a sister to me." She says softly. Vlakalile nods. "I know you are afraid, and so am I. Believe me, so am I. Please Vlakalile, my sister Vlakalile, summon my father. I wish to speak with him."  
  
Vlakalile nods and gets up to do as she as told. Dianthelle sees that she wears a silver bracelet as she walks out of the room. The princess lies on her back in the room, becoming more and more afraid as she notices more things.  
  
Instead of just hearing the birds sing somewhere outside, she can tell how many birds are singing, hearing their distinctive songs. She smells wood and finds out that she is lying atop a wooden bed. The only two pools of light remain, but she notices more and more details in the room, like the chair, the pattern on the blanket, the mirror and the table.  
  
Near pitch-blackness Vlakalile says. Dianthelle sees everything as if dawn is just about to spring into a darkened room with the curtains not drawn. Now she can almost see her reflection. Almost, in the mirror across the room. All she can see are her blue eyes. Blue? Her eyes are violet, but they definitely look blue now. Just as she is about to get up to study it closer, the door opens and light floods in.  
  
"Papa!" She says, getting up and running to him." Papa, I'm afraid! What is happening to me?" Fernemire hugs his daughter tightly, stroking her flaxen hair, shiny and soft. "Do not be, daughter. Do not be. It is expected." She pulls away for a second.  
  
"What is?" She asks. He heaves a great sigh. "Dianthelle, I have lied to you. Your mother was not of Fraldien like I. She was an elf." Dianthelle's eyes widen in surprise. "Then that would mean I am part elf? No!"  
  
Fernemire nods sadly. "Yes Dianthelle. Tell me daughter, are you ever really ill during the winter months?" He asks, folding his hands behind his back. "Well no." She replies uneasily. "You hear strange things in your mind daughter. They are portions of the thoughts of others. You've hidden it for so long I know, but I have always known. Your ears, they are pointed are they not?" She nods.  
  
"Your eyes are violet, a mix of your mother's blue and my gray, but an unnatural hue of violet one that can change to blue in certain light, like they are doing now. You have slightly keen hearing, smelling and eyesight. It is very bare daughter, but it is there. I raised you amongst humans so you barely have these extra-keen senses. But when you were stabbed your elvish side healed the wound, so that is why your senses are so switched on right now."  
  
She bows her head. "The knife would have killed you if not for your elven blood, daughter, and that is what comforts me." Fernemire says tenderly. She shakes her head. "Then you are an elf too, Papa? Elves bind themselves to their mortal spouses, do they not?"  
  
Fernemire shakes his head. "Such was not the case with your mother, Dianthelle. She did not want to forsake her mortal life for you, or for me. She did not want to bind herself to me and become mortal. Your mother, Dianthelle, she is very ill in the mind. She is not right in the head. I wanted to raise you from the start, to protect you from her. I didn't realize how ill she was before she refused the proposal."  
  
He is silent now, lost in thought or memory-or both. "What was her name?" Dianthelle asks. "Hm?" Fernemire responds. "My mother. Her name, what was it?" He scratches his chin. "Morwen, daughter. Morwen, of Lothlorien." She nods. "Father?" She asks.  
  
He looks up. "I love you." She says and hugs him. He hugs her back. "I hate her." She says, bitter tears streaming down her cheeks. "I hate her for what she did to you, to your heart. I hate her for hat she did to us." She stammers, and bursts into tears. Fernemire soothes her for some time, until her anger cools off somewhat.  
  
"I need some time to myself, father. I know what you think the reason I'm going is, but I assure you it is not. I need time to myself." He nods. "All right, daughter. When shall you return?" She closes her eyes. "One month." She responds. Fernemire closes his light gray eyes, deep in thought, his hands clasped behind his back. After a moment he nods. "May the stars protect you daughter. Do be cautious and do not lower your sword."  
  
Dianthelle lowers her head. "Dola lle. Namaarie." She says, and brushes past him to head towards her chamber. To this day she knows not the reason that caused her to breathe those words.  
  
-Okay people, chapter one is now complete and edited to the effect that was requested; hope you enjoyed! R&R PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! (I said the magic word!) Namaarie, for now. ---}---@ - Ash  
  
Chapter II: Strider, Bloody Hands and the Dreamspeaker  
  
Dianthelle runs through a long plain, and darts into some dense woods just as the first bright spark of lightening illuminates the horizon. She leans against a tall oak tree with her eyes closed, back against its trunk. Something drips down her face. She doesn't have to open her eyes to see that it is blood, not water. There is dull pain above her right eye. She probably hit a branch as she dove into the woods. It now begins to sting very badly. She winces, and touches it very gently with the tip of her finger. When she draws back her hand, she sees that there is blood there. Sighing she drops to her knees, letting the rain soak her hair. It cleanses her wound somewhat. She counts her luck on the fact that she is sheltered somewhat. A loud clap of thunder interrupts her thoughts. Three seconds pass before the flash of lightning. The storm is close still. The princess slides her quiver of arrows off of her shoulders, along with her pack, which she covers with her cloak to keep dry. It will be a damp night but at least her equipment will be dry at least. She keeps her sword in her lap and her bow leaning against the tree, also to her right. She closes her eyes. It really is quite romantic, sitting in this forest as it rains, the sun just sinking into the White Mountains so far off in the distance. She hears voices she thinks, whispers all around her. They are so faint however she pays no attention to it. Slowly she closes her eyes, ready for some sleep. Tomorrow, she thinks lazily, she'll stay here for some time, until her cloak dries then continue east, towards the mountains. Hopefully there would be large game to take down there and- "Hello? Are you awake?" Dianthelle's eyes snap open. Two men on horseback stand in front of her. One of them is tall and rugged, and with shoulder- length hair. His mount paws the ground impatiently. The other is also tall but not as rugged looking-he has a three-day-old beard, short black hair and soft brown eyes. "Aye." Dianthelle responds, not moving scarce her eye movement. The brown- eyed one starts. "A woman!" He exclaims. "Tell me fair lady, what is the reason you travel these perilous woods alone?" What should she tell them? No business of theirs? Pleasure? "I am hunting my good man, I thank you for your concern." She says with a smile, hoping he does not notice her cut. "Hunting indeed!" He replies, and dismounts. "Alone in these woods?" She stands. Now she can see him more clearly. He has a scar on his forehead. "I thank you for your concern, but why do those facts trouble you so greatly?" He smiles. "Orcs, my lady. They walk these lands. And in woods where Orcs prowl is definitely no place for a lady I tell you." He tells her. "Orcs?!" Dianthelle exclaims. Thank the Stars these men came in time. Otherwise she might be dead. "I thank you good sir! I am now indeed greatly in your debt. I am the daughter of a king, so if there is anything I can do for you please name it." She insists. The brown-eyed one lowers is head. "You have not me to thank Milady Princess. If you are to thank anyone, thank Strider. He is the one that suggested we ride though the woods, and spotted you before I?" Dianthelle looks towards the man who has yet to speak. "I thank you both very much. If there is anything I can do for you, once again let me know." She says. "If I may ask, what is the daughter of a king doing out of her castle? What king would allow it, especially here?" Strider speaks for the first time. His voice is low and menacing. He has the right to be curious. "I am the daughter of Lord Fernemire, of Fraldien." She says carefully, not wanting to answer the other question. Strider too dismounts. He smiles. "I know Lord Fernemire. He speaks proudly of you, Lady Dianthelle." She nods. "Aye. Too much. I am not worthy of his compliments. Now you what is your name?" She asks the other man. He bows. "I am Arinur, Lady Princess Dianthelle. It is a great pleasure to meet you." He says, and kisses her hand. "The pleasure is mine." She responds dryly. Then to both the men's shock, she sinks down low on her knees to Strider. "If you claim you know my father, My Lord, then you are the King Strider of the Rangers are you not, if you pardon me asking." He nods. "That is true. Stand up Lady Dianthelle. You can ride with us to escape these woods." She shakes her head. "I cannot My Lord for I am laden with much gear and have no horse." Strider lifts her small bundle of equipment and slings it over his shoulder. "My Lord-" She protests, but he shakes it off. "Go on. You can carry your bow and sword Dianthelle. Mount my horse." She sighs and does as she is told. He then mounts after her and takes up the reins. Dianthelle sheathes her sword. "Hold onto me." He says simply. She considers protesting for a minute, but then thinks better of it and once again does as she is told. "Tightly now. We will be moving fast." She secures her grip slightly. As soon as she does he spurs his horse forward. For the next twenty minutes or so Dianthelle watches trees and rain speed by in a race against the sunset. Occasionally she sees Arinur on his obsidian steed, sometimes ahead and sometimes behind, always leaning forward, leaning against the sweat-slicked neck of his horse. After some time, Strider pulls his horse to a halt in a small clearing sheltered by pines. He dismounts and helps Dianthelle off-though she could have done it herself. Arinur had already gotten off, stroking the neck of his horse. They tether their steeds and leave them to graze. The sun is completely gone now, there are only stars and a sliver of the moon. "We rest here tonight. Safe lands these are, Princess." Arinur tells her. Strider had set his gear and Dianthelle's down. Now he sits motionless. Arinur smiles at Dianthelle, then sits down. "I bid you goodnight Princess. You should get some rest." She nods and sits down, bowing her head. Arinur sighs and folds his arms behind his head. She closes her eyes and prays for sleep but doesn't get there. She tosses and turns for hours, but can't shake it. Something is amiss. Finally she sits up with the intention of whetting one of her knives to occupy her uneasy mind. Something stops her. It is very dark in the clearing but her slightly keen eyes pick it up. Arinur leans over Strider, murmuring something she cannot quite pick up. Slowly, cautiously she stands up, moving stealthily to the left. Something is shining. Arinur holds a knife up above sleeping Strider's neck, poised to strike. Fast as lightning Dianthelle unsheathes a knife from her garter and hurls it across the clearing. Her aim is perfect. It gets him right in the shoulder of his fighting arm. She sees the blood spill and him curse under his breath as he pulls her dagger out. The princess regrets not using her bow, for she has incredible aim, even in the dark and the tips of the heads on her arrows are curved-so it is difficult to pull them out. In a second Dianthelle has her sword unsheathed and is slowly making her way through the shadowed borders of the clearing to Arinur. "Princess." He hisses. "I know that was you. Come out! You've made me angry. I will have to kill you too now but I will say you have a good hand." She smiles. She is behind him. Silently she hooks her arm around his neck, her blade against his neck. "Drop your sword." She orders. He hyperventilates, "Very well Princess." He says through clenched teeth. Slowly he lowers his sword. Dianthelle makes the mistake of lowering her guard. He suddenly slashes backwards. Dianthelle barely dodges losing her head. However he lands a very painful cut on her left breast, tearing her shirt open in the process. Very well. She'll have to fight him off, she has no choice. "Strider!" She screams as she lunges forward. He does not awaken. He is just as fast as she is, and knocks her sword out of her hands. Arinur pins her against a tree. He is so close she can feel his hot breath. "It's over now, princess." He tells her. She silently lifts her dagger off the ground with her boot, confidence growing as she grips its handle. "You are right good sir. It is." She plunges the knife into his gut. He chokes and collapses to his knees. Dianthelle closes her eyes and begins to walk away. The sound of a blade penetrating flesh makes her turn around. Srider pulls his sword out of Arinur's back. Dianthelle's knife is in the dead man's hand. "Thank you my lord. You just saved my life." He shakes his head. "A life for a life, Daughter of Fernemire. I thank you." He walks over to her, wordlessly takes off his cloak and tosses it over Dianthelle's shoulders, covering her open shirt. "Thank you." She says again. He smiles a little at her, prying the knife from Arinur's hand. He cleans it off carefully. "I did not want to kill him." Dianthelle chokes. "You did what you had to do. You are very strong. Not many can hold out a battle as long as you did with Arinur, especially a maiden of fourteen. I apologize for not coming to your aid faster. His poison still lingers on my mind." Dianthelle nods. As she bows her head she sees that there is blood on her hands. It shows in the scant moonlight. She must have made some sound of disgust because Strider touches her shoulder. "There is a stream." He tells her. "It is not far away, to the west." She nods in gratitude and starts walking. She finds herself walking carefully through extremely dense woods with no light whatsoever, going as slowly as she can without tripping and spraining her ankle. Eventually she makes it to a little spring with ice-cold water. She kneels and begins to clean her hands. Just as she is about to stand and walk back to camp, soft but bright light illuminates the area. She doesn't have to shield her eyes from it, and notices that the water is now running a crystalline blue and feels cool to the touch. Then she hears it. The footsteps are slow and soft, but Dianthelle regrets having not bringing her sword. She searches frantically through her clothes and eventually finds a fine-bladed knife in Strider's cloak. She wields it as her only defense, but now sees that she has no need for it. She steps out of the woods, unarmed, wearing a flowing white gown. Her raven hair flows in soft waves down her shoulders and back, and she appears innocent, aside from the strange warning going off in the back of Dianthelle's mind that this woman is not innocent, the woman who knelt by her as she bled from Varessale's knife. The stranger smiles. Dianthelle raises her knife to show that she will defend herself if needed. The woman closes her sapphire eyes. An irregular wind gently blows her sable hair back. Then the strange tongue begins, the tongue Dianthelle is fluent with now. I am the Dreamspeaker, O daughter. She says, her blue gaze fixed upon Dianthelle. She quavers. I send you these messages. You know who I am. Dianthelle holds up Strider's knife in defense. Yes she knows who it is. No, Dianthelle let me explain. I can send you dreams, it is I that makes up the strong part of you. Do as I say and you will never be lost again. Dianthelle listens spellbound and watches paralyzed as the Dreamspeaker walks into the stream, the water up to her waist. She closes her glowing eyes. I have received a great gift child. You can be great as well but you must listen to me. You must find me first. The princess does not move or speak. Dreamspeaker smiles. Join him Dianthelle. Give up your status and take Arinur's place. Your travels will lead you to me. Dianthelle doesn't want to be great, nor does she want to meet her. She does want to take Arinur's place however. Go child and claim your trophies. The horse you will favor, and his knives. She does not respond to the raven-haired Dreamspeaker. I will have to jolt you conscious then. No time has passed in The World of Dreams. The black-haired one raises her arms. Suddenly she is dripping in gore and wielding a bloody sword. The stream churns crimson and the sand is covered in blood. Dianthelle screams and she is now resting on her side by the stream, no blood anywhere but the scant amount she washed into the current. Hyperventilating she stumbles uphill back to camp. "I apologize for the time I took milord." She mumbles and sits. He looks up curiously at her from whetting her knife. "Time? You took no time at all." He tells her. She closes her eyes. "May I ask something?" He looks up. "What is the Dreamspeaker?" She asks. He sighs. "They are blessed." He says. "Blessed?" Dianthelle asks. "Yes. They have received a great blessing for they can manipulate and send dreams." He says. That is enough explanation, but one thing. She wasn't dreaming.  
  
Chapter III: Taking Arinur's Place Dianthelle slept peacefully for the rest of the night, but the Dreamspeaker's words stayed with her until morning. Her decision is that she will go with him, but not to wherever she is. "Milord?" She says as he sits in front of the fire. He looks up in response. "I was wondering.if I could take Arinur's place." He smiles and lights his pipe. "Take the fallen Arinur's place amongst the Rangers? Would your father approve of that Dianthelle?" He asks. "If I gave good reason, yes." He pauses in thought. "You need some training. Not much, but you still need it." He says. "I can help you. With your skill you will most likely learn quickly, in a few days." He says. She clenches her teeth. She wants to ask him what his response is, but waits instead. To her shock he stands up, drawing his sword. "Draw your sword." He says, and she does. Dianthelle stands low, holding her blade with one hand, watching carefully. "Alright. Let's begin." Dianthelle avoids his first spur, gracefully dodging to the left. "See, there. That is your problem." He says. "What?" She asks. "You dodge, but do not retaliate immediately. Try again, but as you avoid, attack. Understand?" She nods, and he spurs again. This time she moves to the right and brings her sword sharply up. He blocks it. "Very good. That normally would not be predictable." She smiles. "Thank you." He pauses again in thought. "Ah. That too." He attacks viciously, she can barely block. Eventually he knocks the sword out of her hand. She bends down to get it, then looks up. "How did you learn?" He asks. "Two hands, or one hand?" She gets up. "One hand, milord." He nods as if she confirmed something. "Try using both hands this time." He once again charges, and this time using both her hands she defeats him. "Good. Very good." He compliments. He sheathes his sword. "Keep those two things in mind Dianthelle." He walks over to the black horse that once belonged to Arinur. "This is Loomin. She was Arinur's most prized possession." He strokes the beast's neck. "Arinur cannot care for her at the bottom of a stream. She belongs to you now." Dianthelle nods. The beast is beautiful, and she does need a horse. "We leave as soon as you are ready. A fellow Ranger has something for you, for she cannot give it to Arinur. Come." They mount their horses. Dianthelle finds several knives in the saddlebag, which she straps under her leggings. They ride west, crossing the stream until they make it to a greener wood near a clearing, where a gorgeous white horse grazes. Strider dismounts, and so does Dianthelle. She stands behind him, unsure of what to do. For now she remains silent. "Salienne?" Strider calls. Slowly, a woman crosses the clearing. She is beautiful, with long golden locks, sharp pointed ears and bright blue eyes. Her skin is very fair, and she wears a brown dress, curved sword in her right hand. Evidently she is an elf. She smiles. "Quel amun, Strider. Ar." She says, looking at Dianthelle. "Where is Arinur?" The elf asks. "And pray I ask your name child?" She adds with a kind smile. "This is Lady Dianthelle, Salienne. Arinur has betrayed us. Dianthelle killed him in my defense, for Arinur poisoned me and tried to slit my neck." Salienne smiles and steps forward to examine Dianthelle more carefully. "I thank you for saving Strider's life Lady Dianthelle. I shall call you Poldiel which in the tongue of my people means-" A sudden image of the Dreamspeaker enters her mind. "Strong maiden." Dianthelle finishes for her.  
  
"Forgive me, I-" Salienne smiles patiently. "You've done nothing to apologize for." Strider nods. "She has taken Arinur's place." Salienne does not object. Instead her smile broadens. "If she is strong enough to fight off Arinur and win, not to mention save the king, certainly she is worthy of becoming a ranger." Salienne pulls a wrapped package from her cloak and hands it to Dianthelle. "This was once Arinur's but it is now yours." She unwraps it and discovers that it is a sword, long, slender and curved. Carved with runes. It is very light. "This blade is named Laikhyanda. It was forged and blessed by my people." Salienne explains. Dianthelle shakes her head and hands it back to her. "I cannot accept this. I have my own blade, and deserve not one that was to be given to a dead man, especially one like Arinur." The elf turns to Strider. "She is modest, and wise beyond her years." He nods. "Thank you, Salienne. It was good as always to speak with you. Come Dianthelle, let us go to Fraldien to inform your father." Dianthelle nods. "Yes." They mount and start to ride away. Dianthelle sees Salienne wave and walk off into the woods as they leave.  
  
Chapter IV- Boromir 4 years later. "Noro lim!" Dianthelle screams a pleading order at Loomin, who pushes herself to ride faster through these snow-covered woods. Orc arrows fall like rain around her, but miraculously none of them hit their target. It has been four years since that day in the woods where she saved Strider's life, and over those four proud years she has formed a strong friendship with him and Salienne. She is a strong Ranger now, off hunting in woods within the borders of Gondor. Dianthelle has matured from a strong girl of fourteen to a stronger and wiser woman of eighteen. But she is still brazen and careless now, and on this hunting exbidition she has erred on several points. One, she is being chased alone by The Stars know how many orcs. Two she has lost both Strider and Salienne, she cannot find them anywhere. Three Loomin is tiring. She doesn't know how far she can push her horse before she just stops. But wait. There is someone on foot in front of her. He is cloaked and running as fast as he can, his dark hair drenched in sweat and snow. He resembles Strider. But how did he lose his horse? Does it matter? No. Dianthelle grabs him by the hood of his cloak and pulls him up onto her horse. It isn't Strider. It is someone else, someone she doesn't recognize. Once again does it matter? She'll drag him to safety. One arrow hits him in the shoulder. She yanks it out immediately and throws it down, spurring Loomin. After an endless race the orcs seem to give up and she slows Loomin to a trot. A few miles east there is a small village, with an inn, the White Lion. She slings the man over her shoulder, with her quiver of arrows. She is very strong, but not as strong as Salienne. She throws some gold on the table by the innkeeper. "One room please." She says. An arrow grazed her face, and there is a slash there. He nods. "Are you Aara?" She nods. "How did you know?" She asks. "I was to say that you're to meet here at 10:30 tomorrow morning, by Strider. He confirmed your identity by saying your eyes are a rare color." She nods again, and carries the man upstairs, and once there takes off his shirt. He is very lean and muscular, unconscious but she finds him still attractive, though there is a cut where the arrow was. She cleans and wraps it carefully-it wasn't poisoned thank the Stars. He'll live. Dianthelle sighs and places a cold cloth on his forehead. As soon as she does, his eyes open. They are gray, like her father's. She smiles. "Are you the she-elf that saved me?" He asks. Dianthelle nods. "Yes and no, good sir. I am not an elf, though I did save you." He closes his eyes, for he is in no position to sit up. "I thank you for saving me, and I apologize for my error. For the split second my eyes beheld you before the arrow took my sight, I believed I was looking at an elf for your fairness is so much that would cause me to think such a thing." Dianthelle blushes. She has never received such a compliment. "I thank you for the compliment. May I ask your name good sir?" She asks. "Forgive me again fair lady! I am Boromir, Steward's Son of Gondor. May I take the liberty to ask your name?" She smiles, remembering Strider's orders. "I am called Aara, Boromir. And may I ask what a noble man like you was doing alone in orc infested woods, seemingly unarmed and without a horse?" She asks civilly but coolly. "Hunting, Lady Aara, though only with a bow and quiver of arrows, and I was forced to abandon my weapons when I was attacked. I am counting my luck on the fact that you saved me, for if you did not I would probably be bleeding in the snow about now." She shakes her head. The man has charm. "So can I take you back to where you reside Sir Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor?" She asks bittersweetly. He sits up, though wincing in pain from the wound on his shoulder. "Your eyes, Lady Aara! They hold such a rare beauty for I have never seen such a color as the shade I gaze upon right now. They remind me of the irises seen in the springtime. You are sure there is not a drop of elf-blood in your veins?" He says. "I shall admit to it then." Says Dianthelle with a smile and bit of a blush. "I am half elf, by my mother's side." She tells him. "Half elf indeed! I was told once about a violet-eyed princess, whose blood is half elven." Dianthelle smiles, deciding to play along. "Oh? Tell me more." She goads. He clutches his wound. "Well her name is Dianthelle I believe, the Silver Princess of Fraldien her city is called if I recall. She is daughter of the King of Spies Fernemire, who serves Gondor as a spy. His daughter is known as the Spitfire Princess, for she goes weeks without bathing and fights with a sword." Oh, is that so? She smiles, though slightly angered. "Go on." She fingers the hilt of her sword. His eyes linger on her hand for a moment, and then he quickly looks up. "She's very skilled though. Better than most men in her country I heard, and known for her strange uh.bath-um.beauty! Yes! Known for her beauty and her sword Siamne-" Dianthelle unsheathes her sword slightly, so the elvish letters for Siamne show, the first six letters of 'Siamnethall'. He gapes at her with his mouth open. "Forgive me Lady Dianthelle! I only repeated what I heard!" He says quickly. She laughs. "First I save you from certain death, even though you were being extremely foolish, Boromir Son of the Steward of Gondor, alone in orc-infested woods, once again seemingly unarmed. And now you repeat rumors that the Princess of Fraldien rarely bathes to the woman that saved you who just so happens to have violet eyes and is half-elf? That is merely coincidental to you? Tell me Boromir, Son of the Steward of Gondor, are you positive of your status?" "Forgive me." He mumbles, his cheeks going scarlet. She smiles bittersweetly. "Of course you are forgiven. How can I not forgive one who is as fatuous as you are?" He doesn't look offended. Instead he laughs and so does she. "At least you are not impersonal." Dianthelle laughs, thoroughly amused. "No Lady Dianthelle, quite the opposite in fact." He responds, also laughing. "Is it a good thing Lady Dianthelle, that I have been caught unarmed by a woman of such beauty, who is armed might I add?" The princess narrows her gaze, still smiling cruelly. "You tell me." She says, and they laugh again. That's how they spent most of the night, laughing about the dullest of things, like Boromir and Fernemire's eye colors are the same. That was 'hysterical'. Eventually Dianthelle yawns and stretches. "The hour is late, and I must meet someone early tomorrow. I am sorry to say that I bid thee goodnight, Boromir." She says tiredly and settles comfortably on the floor, using her equipment as her pillow. "I cannot permit this." She opens one eye. "My going to sleep?" She asks groggily. He shakes his head. "Of course not. It is snowing and you, the Princess of Fraldien are sleeping on the ground. Allow me to exchange positions with you." She shakes her head no immediately. "You are wounded." He gets up. "And?" She groans. "You are in higher rank than I." She responds bitterly. She's tired and not quite up for arguing. "And you are a lady, a princess." He says civilly. Dianthelle pulls a coin from her pocket. "You are heads and I am tails. Let us flip to see who shall get the bed." She says, and flips the coin. To her great disdain it disappears beneath the floorboards. Mumbling curses she gets up with her cloak and lies down on the bed after removing all her armor and weapons, down to the last dagger which pins her hair up. Her flaxen curls now fall in a gentle cascade midway down her back and over her shoulders. She yawns and folds her knees under her stomach, her favorite sleeping position. "I am glad you listened to me Princess Dianthelle." Says Boromir, starting to lie down where she was, but instead she grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the bed. "This also works." He says, stretching. Dianthelle also stretches, then curls back into her original position. "This is not awkward for you?" Boromir asks. Dianthelle opens one violet eye. "Nay. Often during cold nights in Fraldien I share my bed with my guard. I really do not see his purpose, for I can easily defend myself." She says confidently. "So the stories are true." He says, intending no harm. Dianthelle however took the comment the wrong way. She sits up angrily. "Partly, yes. I carry a sword not just for decoration." She nearly snaps. "So you can use it?" He tests. "Yes I can, thank you. And if you doubt me, then I shall prove it to you tomorrow then." He was unsure what to say for a moment, but was dubious of her skill. "I do, Lady Princess, but-" She growls. "Very well. You shall regret that tomorrow." She says and lies back down, asleep almost as soon as her head touches the pillow. He is not afraid, for he believes she shall forget by morning, and loses no sleep. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* When he awakens the next morning he sees that Dianthelle is already awake- and has been for some time because she had evidently bathed, she is dressed and she sits by the window, gazing out onto the snow. He found himself liking how the winter sunshine makes her flaxen hair almost glow with golden light and how her eyes seem to sparkle in the position they are currently in. Her hands are folded in her lap, and slowly her eyes move to his direction. "Good morning. I pray you are feeling well enough for a friendly jesting." She says. So she didn't forget. "Of course." He lies, getting dressed. She smiles, and stands up. "Good." She says, walking towards the door. "I have to meet a friend of mine, then we can begin." She says, and in about ten minutes they leave and start downstairs. Dianthelle finds Strider quickly and curtsies. "Quel amrun Strider ar Salienne." She says. "I am happy to see you both are alright, but a friend of mine has challenged me to a friendly sword-fight." She says pleasantly. "Oh?" He says. "Well at least you are alright Dianthelle. Strider was most worried about you last evening." Salienne says, smiling. "I am waiting for someone. Do what you will Dianthelle, and meet back here at 4:00. And I am glad you are safe." He says, and sits down. She curtsies and leaves. "Now would you like to be publicly humiliated?" She asks Boromir, who remains silent. "No, Lady. I am not afraid, just morals tell me I should not be fighting a woman." She snorts. "Oh? I tell you now to not hold yourself back then." She chooses a field lightly dusted with snow not far off in the woods, and pulls out Siamnethall. He draws a sword as well, much to her shock. "I was not unarmed." He says. "What good is a sword in your previous position? Let us begin." He spurs forward and she dodges gracefully and brings up her sword immediately, something compulsive on her part now after Strider taught it to her. It works 99% of the time but Boromir was so skilled he foresaw the maneuver and was able to repel it. Gritting her teeth in shock and frustration, Dianthelle jumps to avoid his next move, and steals a ruse one of her opponents once used, she crushes her sword down. He repels that as well, but ends up cutting himself in the process. It could have been a lot worse though. "That was unintentional." Dianthelle says, gasping for breath in the frost- ridden air. She has always disfavored combat in cold conditions, it blocks off her nose and makes her throat raw and burning from rapid inhalation. He shakes his head. "Think naught of it, Princess." He is bleeding, and she is sorry. Instead he spurs again, and she has to jump to dodge the attack, he started to aim for her neck but at the last second aimed for her legs. She avoids it unscathed, but then falls, dropping her sword. "Are you alright? Let me help you up." He takes her hand and pulls her to her feet, dusting the snow off of her clothes. "Thank you." He smiles as he sheathes his sword. "I am happy I chose isolated battle." She picks up her sword, and throws up her gloved left hand as she sheathes her own blade. "Very well. I admit defeat." She grumbles. He brushes more snow of off the hood of her cloak. "And what does Boromir Son of the Steward of Gondor request as a reward for defeating Dianthelle, Daughter of Fernemire?" She grumbles. He takes one look at her and makes up his mind. "A kiss from the Lady of Fraldien." Before she can protest he seizes her by the lips. "There, it is done." He says about a minute later. "That is the only reason I was trying a few moments ago." Dianthelle bites her lip. He now looks serious. "Forgive my brazenness, Lady Dianthelle." He says, bowing his head slightly. "I only wished to kiss the woman who captured my heart at least once." Dianthelle is very angry right now-in fact trying hard to restrain herself from smacking him across the face or throwing a punch-she could throw a good punch and could quite possibly knock him out in both scenarios. 


End file.
